Entropy
by underyourpatio
Summary: The Grid was never going to be perfect. It couldn't be. It was flawed. It was isolated. Yet it still grew. But without command, without external power, it only had a matter of time before Kevin Flynn's work would soon experience the imperfect laws of our world. An SOS from an old program who still believes is the last hope for the system, back to the one User who could understand.
1. Prologue

A/N: First Tron fic and , after much research and planning, it's finally coming to fruition. It's ending up being about novella length, so please bare with the first few chapters. All will be explained later.

* * *

**Prologue**

_It was never quiet._

_Always needed. _

_Sectors patrolled and protected._

_Even during the start of the oppression, you were still there, fighting what came from within._

_No external threats. Nothing._

_The system was isolated._

_Nothing could get in. Isolated. Alone. _

_You were alone._

_Despite everything there was._

_You were alone._

_And the threats still came._

_Came from within._

_An isolated system._


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The dark waters lapped over the fine sand-like substance, leaving unnaturally jagged patterns as the soft waves rolled over it. The pattern was disrupted by the obstruction of a dark shape on the shoreline, the sea running around the limbs, edging back as if repelled to try again. Things emerged from the sea of simulation, it was well known back before the infection… But normally animated and awake and _alive_.

Bodies emerged with fervor and the will to be.

Not as a lifeless pile of blank code.

"Well?"

Nothing was moving.

"I don't know... It appears intact."

They were moving its head, only to give it a mouthful of sea water that had pooled in the helmet.

That was enough to get a response, albeit rather passive.

The strips on the suit slowly began to glow, flickering occasionally as they warmed back up from the deathly cold depths of the digital sea.

"It's operational. Flip it over."

Turning the body over, it was noiseless save for the slap as its wet suited back hit the wet sand.

And the patterns glowed through.

The program instantly stepped back, innately wanting space between itself and the right hand program.

The other however laughed lowly and kicked the body's side. "Looky what we have here…"

"Rinzler."

That's all they knew. All they remembered. It had been many cycles since people referenced the symbol on his chest differently.

CLU had done that much for it. Rub it into the dirt and rescind it, make it anew. Of course they wouldn't refer to him correctly. No one remembered how he truly was. Just the myth and legend that had all become hearsay; tales of times passed.

His vision was dark, barely able to trigger the video sensor in the helmet. He tried to move his head, but ended up coughing up more water into the helmet, the ions in the liquid burning through his chest.

The laughing program kicked the side of his neck and made sure the other program could see what he was doing.

The helmet flicked back slowly, folding away into the neck port revealing the scarred face of the old program. Full consciousness, the term used as loosely as it would be allowed, eluded him despite the attempts of various programs transporting him back to the city. But he could remember the first thought he was able to create.

He had slept enough.

* * *

The head of the company.

Surprisingly, even after making the decision of taking the position, it seemed so easy. Just… common sense.

Sam Flynn sat, perched on the edge of the long table of his choice executives, looking thoroughly bored by one's proposal down the end.

"It won't be free then?"

The executive faltered. "Well… no… but the charge will be kept below under $20 per unit."

Sam sighed. "It's designed for students, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Why are you trying to squeeze profit out of a demographic that doesn't have the money?"

The table went silent.

Sam folded his arms. "It needs to be a free program for them to access or no one will benefit."

"But we need profit in this area to develop more." A young bespectacled man leant forward and waved a hand lazily at the desk.

Sam blinked. "Yes, thank you Dillinger…"

"Otherwise, we won't be able to develop much else."

"Then release it on license." Another man declared, sitting back in his seat. "Free for students, Universities and colleges pay for a multi-install license for them to access. Like Mr Flynn has said from the beginning."

Sam would never be able to get used to that. He pointed at him and looked at Dillinger. "Listen to Alan more, Ed. Because If you don't want to llisten to me-"

Dillinger cringed at the name shortening, lips pursing in annoyance."I do listen, _Flynn_, but you are far too optimistic. Going straight to license will severely dent to profit margin."

A small grin spread across Sam's face. "Will it make it a loss? Then don't worry. Profit is profit. The benefit should out weigh that."

"The effect of the solar storm last year hasn't cleared from the market yet. We need some form of cash cow to set things back off for Encom." Dillinger stated, hand flat on the desk, face dark. "And this free licensing you keep promoting won't do _anything _for it."

"The state the sales are in are not in decline."

"But you insist on giving replacements or repairs for free even without guarantee! The solar flare would come under the category of an 'act of god'. It isn't our problem."

"We aren't having anyone stranded or we will lose all consumer support. Besides, only a small number of units were affected by the storm." Sam shrugged. "It won't affect any profit margins, even if we _don't _have a cash cow at the ready. Understood?"

Edward Dillinger curled his fingers into his palms and sat back, arms folded.

Standing up, Sam stretched an arm and clicked his vertebrae, satisfied with Dillinger's silence. "And I am out of here. You can all head off to wherever you want or talk amongst yourselves… I don't mind." He headed down the room and out the door.

It was only two o'clock in the afternoon and the day seemed done. There wasn't much else he could do now other than head home or sit about staring across the vista of Los Angeles. Wandering up to the floor to ceiling window and stared at the lines and regular pattern of planned streets and the new glittering glass shards of building mixed with the older concrete monstrosities down below.

"It could never match it…" He muttered absently.

"Match what?"

Sam turned at the voice, putting his hands in his pockets. "What dad designed." He gave Alan a side on look and smirked. "But I think that was the point."

Alan shrugged and looked out onto the city. "Probably, but he never really focused on the reality of things though, did he."

Sam scratched his bearded cheek and laughed. "No… no I guess not."

"The licensing needs to have more exposure before being released or no one will know about it, Sam." Alan looked across at the young Flynn, despite him looking more and more like his father all the time. "And Dillinger had a point."

Sam ran a hand back through his hair and sighed. "I know he did, but if I give the board any of that satisfaction, that's how they'll ever think and go back to the way it was before."

"Yes, but you have to find a common ground. Not just with them but with corporate business in general." Alan said turning to him. "That's just common sense."

Common sense…

"Yeah. Yeah." Sam said quietly, closing his eyes. "Just trying to find a balance."

"I know. Just don't get carried away."

Sam looked at Alan properly. "Thanks."

They both turned to look back out onto the city in silence, both retreating into their own thoughts for a while.

"How's Lora?"

"Fine. Getting busy again thankfully." Alan said, voice quiet.

"That's good." Sam had felt bad for not visiting Lora recently but he was just too engrossed with rebuilding what his father had managed to create before his disappearance. "She alright now though?"

Alan nodded. "Perfectly fine. How's Quorra?" He quickly said, changing the subject.

"All over the place. Went off yesterday without telling me just because she wanted to explore the southside." He waved a hand to the right of the window. "I don't mind her doing that; she's managed before and I can barely keep up… Just want her to tell me."

Alan tipped his head. "As long as she's safe doing this…?"

Sam looked at him. "Oh come on… It's Quorra for god's sake."

Yes. The incredibly naïve Quorra. Can knock out most grown men with a single blow to the jaw but… innocent as hell.

Alan said nothing and looked straight ahead.

Looking at his feet, hands back in pockets Sam frowned. "She'll probably be back at the arcade tonight anyway."

"Still going back there?" Alan said surprised, brow furrowing slightly.

"_I_ don't." Sam said, pointing at himself, looking back down to the streets. "But she does. I find her up in dad's old place. Just sitting." And talking to herself under her breath he mentally added. He worried regularly that she was subconsciously missing The Grid. Normally, she was fine, happy as she could possibly be with the new world she now lived in… but 5 times she had been back there. Sitting in the same spot facing the arcade.

"Well, if she wants to go there, let her." Alan shrugged and made to walk off. "As long as she's fine."

Sam turned as he moved around. "Thanks."

"Sure." Alan said walking past and heading back down the corridor.

Sam sighed and looked back out the window, tempted to rest his forehead on the glass as he got a sudden urge to make sure she wasn't back at the old corner building.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Where'd you find him?"

"Down on the shoreline near Arjia, still sopping. Amazed he hadn't already derezzed."

A tall program laughed, asymmetric circuits on his front sparking as he rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, but it's Rinzler, Clu's right hand program. Nothing was able to get rid of him back then, I doubt much could since." He kicked the body at his feet. "Function is a little… limited right now though. Check out the circuits!"

Another program next to him chuckled, high pitched and whining. He stepped around, movements quick and terrier like. "What shall we do with him then, Jutt?" He said, crouching down to prod the benign program's scarred cheek.

"Hmmm…" Jutt brought a hand up to his mouth and grinned widely, suppressing a tic in his elbow. "Slow derezzing is only good if he's actually awake, y'know what I mean?" He said waving a hand, then snapping a glance at the small program who'd hit the side of the head. "Bok, back off, you clutz."

Bok stood back up, bolt upright. "But you said it's pointless if he's out like this."

"So you hit him in the head?" Jutt sneered, sarcasm dripping from every synthesized syllable. "Bitbrain."

The third silent program stepped forward. "We should try and get at least some function going. Ragdolls aren't fun to throw about."

"_Yeah_…" Jutt said rolling his head over to the chunkier of the three. "But _Rinzler._ Smallest amount of function, he'd shred us."

"He doesn't look much like Rinzler to me." The third growled. "More like any other piece of digital detritus that you can find _anywhere_ in this city."

Jutt grimaced at him. "Get you and your big words, _oh quiet one_. But I don't want to risk it."

"Remove his disc then, dolt."

"YOU remove it!"

The third glowered at him, crimson circuits flaring as he crouched and flipped the body over and wrenching the disc off, electrical discharge snapping and ionizing the air around it. He held the disc in front of Jutt's mutilated face and then chucked it across the floor to the opposite end of the hall room.

Jutt snorted. "Do you want to get his attention then?"

"Hell no."

"Well Bok certainly can't. You see what he did." Jutt scoffed. "It's you or me. And frankly… I want to save what energy I have slicing his limbs off."

The third frowned and sighed. "Why do you have to do this to it?"

Jutt stepped up to him, noses barely apart. "Because he is the last of Clu's domain and everyone… _everyone _wants to be the one to have destroyed his old _lap dog._ Bit. By. Bit. Y'get me?" He spat and before the other program could answer, turned and heavily kicked the body of Rinzler on the thigh. "Besides… Dog eat dog in this world now... before the Roots do."

Something had stirred in the circuits of the old program face down on the smooth floor. Maybe it was the slow reboot his fragmented system had to plough through or the repeated blows to his torso and head, but all he knew was that, for the first thing to return, noise was not subtle. It did not gradually rise from a soft murmur to an easy volume. It came back in bursts, blasting the auditory sensors; even more uncomfortable when they hadn't been working for nearly 30 cycles.

_Need to open your eyes. Now. Confirm your whereabouts._

His eyes flickered open to relative darkness. A… floor. The simulated gravity would deem it so. Oddly familiar voices… subconscious familiarity? Quite possibly.

_Time it properly, you aren't sure of motor function as of yet._

"Move him back over and zap him." Bok said, bouncing on the spot.

"You can. I ain't wasting my energy for no one." The third program said heatedly as he kicked the body onto its back.

"He won't need much, Tol." Jutt shrugged. "just… tap him with your light baton and zing."

"And I do this because…?" Tol snapped

"Because. I am in charge." Jutt said, raising his hand to show the small forced circuitry on his palm. "Mark proves it, program. NOW ZAP HIM SO I CAN RIP HIS LEG OFF." He bellowed, voice wavering as glitched vowel sounds were enhanced as his temper frayed.

Sensory function was perfectly fine. The overloading of circuits was enough to bring a program from the brink of deresolution. Back arching with the spasm, he refused to let out a sound.

_Not. Yet._

Bok leant forward and frowned at the still seemingly lifeless body. "You may have to try that again."

"I'm not doing it again. I am on low reserves as it is."

Jutt sighed and stomped on the body's stomach. "Get up you crap piece of code."

The smallest crouched right down and peered over the top of the scarred face, prepared to poke the scars again.

_It will probably derezz soon… load of rubbish this… was looking forward to a decent bea-_

The eyes flicked open.

Staring straight back up into Bok's.

Bok was about to call up at Jutt but the look in those eyes…

_You're doomed._

A hand came up and grabbed around his neck, throwing him forward, propelled further by a powerful kick from one of the program's legs, the scream from Bok completely obscured by a damaged voice synth.

Jutt was so surprised, he stumbled back and made a high pitched squeal. "He's fucking awake! He's awake!"

Tol went into a battle stance, prepared to stand his ground as he watched the old program roll backwards and spring back onto his feet, but in the depths of his mind he knew… he knew he hadn't a chance.

The program stood in a familiar battle stance, going for his disc on his back, hand meeting only mounting. Looking around quickly, taking in his surroundings, he spotted it across the room behind the two larger programs.

All three were recovering from the initial shock, and he cursed himself that he hadn't already dispatched them.

_3. actuarial, processing, processing. Fighting ability… medium level. Room. Arjia? Energy low. Disc located. Primary objective: Disc._

_Then we'll see._

Tol pull forward his disc and laughed, albeit out of nervousness. But the program ran at him without any form of weaponry, helmet off, face stony. Tol lunged at him with his baton but swung through clear air as the program jumped up, stepped on his shoulder and launched himself over the bulky body and spun down, sliding over to grab the discarded disc. Silently, he held it up behind him and slowed the skid enough to begin running back towards him.

Jutt was laughing manically now, own light baton out and jumped to slice at the program's torso. The program stopped instantly and blocked his wrist and kicked Jutt in the abdomen, using the rebound to flip backwards and swipe the ankles of the tallest program, who lumbered forward and tried to hit down. But Tol screamed as his shins shattered out of existence and fell forward, writhing on the floor.

The program stood upright, back in battle stance, prepared completely for the erratic screeching attack from the runt he'd thrown across the room. Bok threw his disc and flipped to the side to evade any parry attacks, but the program blankly blocked the attack and threw his own disc straight into the path Bok moved into, blasted into shards of nothing.

Jutt flipped back up and, breathing heavily, grinned at the program standing opposite him. "You piece of utter vile-"

He hadn't got time for this. He ran forward flung himself over Jutt's head and sliced off his arm. Landing to the sound of agonized howls, he forced himself back up and walked over to the program on the floor, kicking his disc away and picking up the light baton. Putting a foot on Jutt's chest, he stared somberly down at his contorted face. "Who are you?"

Jutt managed to laugh. "Like I'd te-tell _Rinzler._"

The program squinted at him. "But I am not Rinzler."

Jutt instantly stopped laughing, all notion of pain momentarily forgotten as his gaze flickered from the program's face to the symbol on his chest. "No. No he's dead. Tron's dead. You're the lap dog."

Tron spun his disc on his finger and caught it again. "I am the enforcer in this system and you violated 6 separate laws instated by myself and Flynn. Those still stand as long as we are alive. And I am very much alive."

Jutt laughed hysterically, "No one would believe you. I don't believe you."

"Penalty for the last you violated was in fact, deresolution." Tron held his head up. "But you appear to be well on the way to that yourself."

Jutt stared, eyes wide. It was Tron. It _was. _Then the rumours were true. "You destroyed us. You took us away. You took the believers away. You _destroyed us."_

Tron stepped off of him and stared, hiding his feeling of horror. "Deresolution is your sentence."

"Then you're no differ-" Jutt never got the chance to finish. An identity disc sliced across his throat, sending his entire body into particles of glittering dead code, shards flying up over his executioner's arms.

The program was dead anyway... he just... sped up the process.

_It was justified._

Tron stood upright and stumbled back, slumping against the wall as his emergency reserves ran dry. How he had any, he had no idea, but his entire body failed to function and the ache in his limbs was beginning to throb. Resting his head back, he took a moment to just wait and gather his bearings properly.

_What the hell had Clu done?_


	4. The 2nd Law of Thermodynamics

**The 2nd Law of Thermodynamics**

_How simple is a glass of ice water?_

_A cool drink on a hot day._

_Very simple._

_But think._

_The process_

_The process it goes through_

_The glass._

_It is alone._

_Isolated._

_Nothing goes in._

_Nothing goes out._

_The energy it has is all it will have._

_And that energy, that heat, will only disperse within the system._

_Becoming unusable and ineffective._

_Entropy_

_A chaotic process of energy dispersal, thus becoming wasted and useless._

_Chaos._

_In an isolated system, the entropy can only increase._

_And the larger the system, the more the entropy increases._

_This cannot be sustained._

_The water gets cold._

_The system gets cold._

_Cold._

_And dead._


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sam wandered down the stairs to the 50th floor. It made for a bit more thinking time as he contemplated just leaving early and spend the rest of his weekend at home rather than on the top level. Again.

He called Quorra's number to check if she was actually back at the flat. He could just imagine her surrounded by piles of books; those she had read to the right, those she'd lined up next on her left, then multiple piles she'd organized into genre and length. It was amazing to see the scene change and evolve each time he appeared back home.

The dial tone continued to ring on.

No answer.

Sam stopped on the stairwell and listened to the dull buzz coming out the phone speaker, brow furrowing as a couple of programmers walked up past him on the stairs, chattering away to themselves.

She never left her phone. Never. She always answered.

Only if she wasn't exactly… aware of it.

"That fucking arcade." Sam hissed, narrowly missing a secretary as he moved quickly back into the corridor and hit the lift button, putting his phone away. Standing next to the other three in the lift, he stared at his reflection in the polished door as it hurtled downwards silently.

Hopping out as soon as the lift doors were opened enough, Sam jogged across the atrium and out the large automatic glass doors.

"Everything alright mr Flynn?" A receptionist called out, pressing the phone to her shoulder.

But Sam didn't answer. He was heading down to grab his bike and head downtown to the old corner building he had avoided for nearly 15 years previously.

* * *

Tron stared up at the black ceiling, the straight lines of circuitry barely visible. He was initially considering that it was due to his optical receptors not functioning properly due to a low power charge in his own sys-

"That isn't right."

What he was referring to exactly was unclear. Everything… everything was so scrambled and disorganized in his own circuits.

_Processing._

This was slow. Horribily slow. _Painfully _slow. Sharp pangs snapped across his head as he tried to wade through what minimal and messy information he had.

But eventually, he managed to identify several errors.

The full memory for what happened could not be found.

He had no accessible memory for anything previous to waking up in this room.

_But then… how was he forming memories currently? _

He had mentioned a name… and laws…

What had he said?

_Violated 6 separate laws instated by myself and Flynn_

_Flynn._

That name had intrinsic familiarity, so much so that he could dredge up important memories from the back-up in his full system as opposed to his disc, including the laws.

But not one had deresolution as a price to pay.

_'Deresolution is your sentence.'_

_No it wasn't._

Tron felt his extremities go cold for a fraction of a second as he suddenly realized his mistake.

Why- _how_ could he mistake that?

_You've done it before._

_It wasn't uncommon._

_But was it me?_

_Deresolution was never the answer._

Then why did his scrambled circuits say that it was a past possibility?

Was there something in his memory- intrinsic memory- that made this a common occurrence for his system to undertake such an action?

These thoughts instantly coincided with another; this have everything to do with the name the program had mentioned.

_Rinzler_.

Why was there no memory entry on his disc for that?

His disc.

Slowly, he reached behind him and pulled the disc around and inspected it. Visibly it looked rather homogenous; a rather regular disc that could be found on anyone.

On. Anyone.

Tweaking the edge, the framework projected itself above it with various error messages across the identity frame, the light searing across his retinas.

Nothing.

It was an empty disc.

Practically brand new, so much so that the full facial identity facet was still building his current features.

Tron's eyes widened.

This wasn't his true disc.

That meant he was running on back-up. Back-up memory, back-up function…

_The energy issue is going to be a problem._

Frowning, trying not to think where on The Grid he could have got a fresh disc, he adjusted the disc's setting to use his intrinsic memory for long term memory recall and disc for short term before placing the disc beside him on the floor with a light clatter.

_Focus on one thing._

_The name Flynn. The deep rooted memories of Flynn._

Tron sighed, thankful the old memories of his friend were still there to hold onto; for stability and leant forward, replacing the disc.

_Oh how I need that right now… in every sense of the word._

Mustering up as much energy he could, he hauled himself up, pressing against the wall for support, Tron blinked a few times to check the visual response. No… it wasn't him. The entire room was shrouded in a gloom, the light having receded to the minimum level after turning the disc back off.

Looking around, the piles of dead pixels and half decimated bodies of the three programs lay strewn about like parts of dolls, rigid and very much dead.

Tron rubbed his temple and cheek, running a hand over the scars running across his cheek bone and down his face, and sighed. Making his way to the door to the side access, he picked up an old light baton to replace his, apparently, missing one and clipped it in the shin guard. Peering out, he had to squint to see the opposite building, the light diluted to the palest aura on the edges of the surfaces. Frowning, he took a step out into the alleyway and walked a few strides to the main concourse.

It was the small industrial storage complex in the south of, in fact, Tron City, but it wouldn't have been recognized if Tron hadn't patrolled it over 100s of cycles with other Flynn Security Programs. Normally it was clear, yes, but… now, it wasn't just empty.

It was devoid of _everything._

Tron scowled at the dark and turned to head to the main city centre, unnerved at the lack of any noise, any movement from anything. The only noise being his own foot falls, the slightly irregular tap on the perfectly flat floor as he regained the regular flow of energy within his weak system.

Berating himself mentally for the completely unnecessary outburst of energy upon regaining function, he concentrated on attempting to find some form of energy port or-

A high pitched screech pierced the dull air, echoing off the storage compartments and reverberating across the metal sheets.

Stopping in his tracks, Tron immediately flattened himself against the side of a container. The eerie silence resumed as abruptly as it was disrupted, letting the sound linger a little while longer to penetrate that base part of his mind, sending a chill right through his body.

That noise. Not a familiar sound to him within The Grid, nor in the Encom system… Too feral for a controlled source.

Looking up, the sky was visible with dark clouds slowly moving across the black expanse above. The definition in the clouds was remarkably clear, almost as clear as it could be seen in the outlands.

The light.

The light had gone.

Tron stole that thought away and carried on with a little more haste, keeping to the unnaturally forming shadows. Getting to the edge of the depot, he looked out at the expanse below of the lower side of the city and almost made an audible noise of shock.

It couldn't have been the same place. He could barely _see _it. The light had diminished far too far for this to be a natural flux in energy levels. Clearly there was an issue with power or energy transportation to Tron City since he-

He stopped that thought process, the issue still raw as if physical pain was charging his system.

_Clu._

The scars across his entire body stung as the anger rose from the depths of his base memory, bringing everything else with it; the slaughter, the purge, the… enslavement.

And yet… they weren't _his _ memories. He never experienced these things, just see them, feel them from someone else as if they were planted in his head. Like he was watching through a screen that was able to be breached and pain him.

"That wasn't me. It wasn't me. It never was." He hissed, looking at his own low lit glove.

_Yes it was. You did as you were told. As you always did._

Crouching down on his haunches, Tron held his head and groaned. "I'd never harm the system."

_No… but you hurt those within it._

Tron gritted his teeth and tried to shut out the noise from within, willing it to stop. "No I didn't. It wasn't me."

_You hurt Flynn's programs._

_Flynn's programs._

_Flynn._

Tron's head snapped up, hands hovering by his temples. A resounding disciplinary feeling shot through him as a new objective formed in his mind like a spark.

"I need to find Flynn."

Standing up, he looked across the city and took out the light baton.

"Talking to itself, yes it was."

Tron was about to set up a light cycle when he stopped and turned his head to the voice behind him. Silently, he moved away from the dark shape, which lumbered forward, crouching low.

"Yes… it's going mad methinks, don't you?" The faint circuitry flared slightly as the figure appeared to get excited at the prospect of Tron's apparent mindset.

Tron considered whether the program – for it couldn't be anything else – was talking to him and expecting an answer, before it carried on for itself.

"It has some power, hasn't it? No sense letting good power go to waste on a mad dog like this…" the program giggled, baring teeth in a manic grin. Tron's eyes widened at the sight of it. _Is this a virus of some sor-_

The program leapt forward, screeching unnaturally as it aimed to claw at Tron's neck. Turning his body, he pulled out his disc and parried the attack, dodging the flailing limbs. The program cried and skidded along the floor and resumed its attack almost immediately. Falling into a defensive stance, Tron waited until it was close enough to dispatch whatever this thing used to be, not wanting to waste his own energy to attack something that will do the travelling for him, when it stopped, hissing, arms over its face.

"The chest plate. The chest. The murderer."

Tron's breath hitched at those words. Looking down at the T shaped symbol on his suit, his throat closed over at the flashing memories of hundreds and hundreds of deresolutions of innocent programs.

"It musn't touch me. It shouldn't. We don't want it to." The thing whimpered, cowering down, animalistic and small. "please no. We only want survival, yes."

Tron stood up straight and leant away from what used to be a program, twisted by delirium from lack of energy. "Who are you?"

The thing looked up eyes wide, as if it was surprised Tron would talk to it. "We are nothing, we need something or we are nothing. There is nothing."

Whether it was riddles or just raving madness, Tron wasn't sure he wanted to find out. It was clearly frightened out of its tiny mind of him now… with the reputation his symbol now had.

Tron backed up, too tired himself to try and deal with the deformed program any longer, despite wanting to be able to give the 'nothing' its 'something'.

Not wanting to turn his back just yet, he held out the light baton and prepared to run and unfurled the digital transport to get to the main power receiver in the centre of Tron City. The thing just remained in a crumpled heap on the floor as it began to weep, rocking slightly. Tron, horrified, turned on his heel and hurtled along the depot platform and reformed the cycle, carrying on down the hill to give the machine some momentum, and headed for the centre, lights low.

He had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to use this very long.

But Tron refused to rise to that panic, despite that awful notion that the city was lost.

_I need to find Flynn. _


	6. Chapter 4

__**Chapter 4**

_I am going to die._

A young program darted from pillar to post, avoiding any light spots, so as not to be seen.

But the noises behind him were too loud to make him anywhere near safe

_I am going to die._

He flattened himself against the wall, feeling the encroaching wave of glitched dead programs press forward.

_A horrible death._

_All I ask was for a decommission._

_What messages do I send now? None._

He took a moment to hold his head in his hands, letting out a frustrated sob.

_There is no use for me._

_If the users could hear me, surely they would have mercy._

_Mercy on us all._

_And shut down everything._

_For this is Hell._

He looked out to the gateway to the Outlands, contemplating-

Then he heard it… that voice…

"_Pro_gram… _pro_gram… _run_ning _through_ the _waste_land…"

_Please, by the Users, no…_

* * *

There it went again. A high call. On off on off on on off on on on off on… Basic binary. But it was wrought with urgency and frustration. But she couldn't pin point where it was coming from. Somewhere in this building… somewhere here.

She'd thought maybe from the arcade itself but she'd soon discounted that idea as she went to the top room. For 5 months. The same day every other week. The same pattern.

Sitting in the corner of the large L shaped seat, Quorra kept her eyes closed, trying to _see_ where it came from.

But she was interrupted in her thought process by the thumping of steps up the stairs. "Quorra." The voice was so distant, she had barely realized it was in fact her name. She mumbled something akin to an affirmation.

She then felt a hand on her shoulder, a slight shake.

"no no no… hang on."

She just needed a couple of moments longer. But the signal almost dulled instantly as if cancelled out.

"Quorra."

Her eyes flickered open, feeling the searching feelers retract like draining water. "I almost found it Sam."

"Find what?" Sam crouched down in front of her, brow furrowed.

"The source of that signal." She said quietly.

Sam sighed. "Come on Quorra. It's probably interference."

"No. No it was desperate… it was like an SOS." She said, swaying and closing her eyes again. Standing up she pointed to the side. "That side of the building."

Sam looked puzzled and got up. "There isn't anything here that can send out a message."

This was true. The removal of the grid from the mainframe in the arcade prevented anything being added to it without his knowledge.

"You sure you got all of it." Quorra frowned.

Sam sighed and walked over to the side of the room and looked around for any electrical devices that might send out a passive signal. "Yes."

"Have you checked it recently?" She replied quietly.

Stopping, Sam rested a hand on a shelf and looked to the side. He hadn't since last year, purely due to the high risk of solar flares and storms over the last 9 months. He'd taken it out of the built up system he'd made for it and it had remained separate, untouched by anything since the last storm surge.

Last time he checked, it was running within normal parameters.

"Checked as in operational status?"

Quorra shook her head and walked over. "No as in _checked_. What it says on the screens each time you log on quickly and what's actually going on may be very different in there."

Sam turned to look at her. "You think the signal is coming from The Grid?" He gave her a disbelieving look and turned back to look for the possible emitter.

She squinted and fumed silently. "You don't think I can tell?"

"It's not that. They'd contact the outside via the interface. Not digital signals." Sam shrugged and looked around the side of the shelving unit and gave a silent laugh in surprise. "I wondered where that was." He crouched down and curled his hand around the small piece of 1980s technology; the momento Alan had given him. "I was beginning to worry."

"Will you shut up about the stupid pager and just listen to me?" Quorra pushed his shoulder. "Some system is calling for help and you're just laughing about it!"

Sam just stared at her, turning the battery-less pager in his hand. "I am not laughing about it. I will check the state of The Grid when I get back, alright?"

There were signals all over this place in this world. Most from humans to other humans, some automated, some from the cosmos. One signal could mean anything; a dodgy electricity connection, an automated call system, a rogue military satellite.

Turning the pager again in his hands, he went to walk out the door.

"You promise?"

Sam turned and nodded. "Of course."

Heading down the stairs, Sam didn't notice that Quorra had stayed in the room, staring at the walls hoping for them to give her some form of answer.

She shook her head at herself. _Like staring at one room would help in any way._

* * *

_Argon City Outskirts_

_2.5 cycles since boot up._

_System running at 70.563%_

_Corrupted files locked down._

_Warning. Energy levels critically low._

The boundary between the outlands and the city's edge was so undefined, Tron hadn't noticed the change in scenery until the cycle he was on began to reverberate with the tough terrain beneath the wheels. Coming to a stop, he checked for a heavy terrain modification, but thought better of it, letting the light cycle dissipate and reform back to its light baton.

Sighing at the state of his energy levels, he stood up straight and looked up at the sky, watching as sheet lightning flashed, the air rumbling around him. Looking back out to the wasteland that stretched out far and wide beyond the city walls, he squinted out, peering at the small speck of light in the distance.

His abdomen wrenched in a tight knot.

_He'd seen this before._

Cursing the loss of his original disc for the thirtieth time in the past few microcycles, he contemplated whether the time he had spent at the Argon energy tower in the city was enough.

The protective barriers had been demolished, decimated by glitched programs desperate for some sustenance. He frowned at the memory of the poor groups so broken and corrupted by complete reckless abandon, they had nearly destroyed themselves in order to get some power in their systems.

The tower was dead practically, a sickeningly sloppy pulse of energy was dribbling through it, even worse than the state of the tower at Tron City.

_Nothing was coming into the system._

_And nothing was getting out._

It seemed so… diluted. The energy had spread out to the far reaches, spread out among the vastness of The Grid.

Rolling his shoulders and ignoring the searing pain across his scars, he took a few steps out to begin the trek to Flynn's quarters.

For that was Flynn's quarters. That light. That speck of low light in the distance.

He knew.

Someone he had once been had travelled this way before.

Like degraded low resolution pictures, old basic maps, images flashed across his vision. Targeting features and creating a known route to the destination.

_Clu took the Black Guard there._

_You were there._

_Right beside him._

Tron shuddered at the recollection of Clu. The determination on the memory's face to find and destroy the Creator…

Shaking his head and widening his eyes, Tron stepped back out of the sudden reverie and returned to the sound of panicked movement behind the city walls.

Spinning around, Tron pulled out his disc and flipped his helmet over, damaged mechanisms shuddering as it did so. Frowning up at the wall, he considered the use of the modified cycle as a better energy option and keep moving.

A high pitched voice called from over the wall, tone lilting and rhythmical as it spoke, voice hauntingly sing-songing its words.

"_Pro_gram, _pro_gram, _run_ning _through_ the _waste_land, _run_ning _from_ the _bandit_ who will _voxel slice your neck…_"

It cackled as it disappeared from view, a lower voice laughed manically alongside it.

Tron just watched the opening, eyes unblinking as he stood fast.

"Bandit _slice_, bandit _dice_, bandit make you _pay the price_." More laughter reached Tron's auditory processors, causing him to shiver at the lingering broken tones from deranged programs.

_Pay the price for what?_

A figure slid into view by the door, form hunched and jerky, suddenly distracted from its little duet by a commotion of slathering and high pitched sounds beside it.

"Basic has the energy. BasIC HaS tHE EneRgy."

Tron stepped back, disc still whirring in his grasp as he watched as the shapes moved. A high pitched scream of panic blared out across the expanse of dead city, the figures moving to quell a struggling form.

"Get away! Get AWAY from ME!"

Tron was already moving.

A small program was battering off the small group of deranged creatures, his circuits low and movements sluggish.

But the deformed things attacking him, wrenching at his limbs and pulling at his sides, were too many in number. The thought of just letting these things overcome him suddenly seemed appealingly easy compared to the world the system had become, lack of energy making him suicidally apathetic.

Just as one creature twisted his wrist, pixelated cracks snapping along his arm as he cried out in pain, the thing disintegrated in a shower of sickening green pixels, the disc it was shattered by, already moving around to take down three others.

The program, now free, fell to the ground and scurried along the floor to take shelter behind a ruined building, watching with ragged cycling as he watched his savior flip and cut through the final glitch.

He blinked and instantly turned his attention to his wrist, cursing the fact he had in fact survived. Slow deresolution from such a pathetic wound.

What had he done to deserve-

"Are you alright?"

He looked up at the masked figure, who looked as thoroughly weary as he did, despite the imposing stance he towered over him with.

The program just stared, wide eyed, circuits erratically glowing and fading.

"Are you _alright_?" The figure said again, more slowly as his helmet retracted, revealing the pixelated scars that covered half of his face.

The program continued to stare and whimpered. "Why did you help me?"

_What a stupid question._

"It's my job." The figure said gruffly and crouched down, his own circuits low in intensity, but the program flinched as he recognized the light patterns on the figure's suit.

"You don't help. You kill." The program said, shifting back further against the alcove, face full of fear.

The figure looked at his own chest and sighed. "I'm not who you think I am." _Evidently._

The program squinted at him. "Well, you can't be Tron."

That was the myth that had gone around. The pathetic Bit story that Rinzler was in fact Tron, not just a program that Clu had put the same symbol on as a sick reminder not to cross him.

The figure didn't say a word and took the program's arm, looking at the damage. The program's eyes widened. "No… No you can't be."

Tron just looked up, eyes half lidded in an expression suggesting he had heard this reaction before.

"It's been quite a while since the complete crash of the system… how long have you been running?" he said quietly, voice low and rough.

The program was still trying to keep his cycling down. "I came out of standby several microcycles ago. Although, I have been functioning for nearly 200 cycles now." He said, feeling a lot calmer now that he was talking about things he was certain of.

Tron pulled a small container from his belt and handed it to the program. "That long…?" he said, the subtle sarcasm lost on the considerably younger program.

"Yeah… How I've made it this far…" he trailed off, looking at the container. "What is it?" he said slowly, wary of what… well, if it was Tron, he'd compress his data files to an 8bit – was holding.

"Just drink it." Tron said quietly, standing up again, watching him intently to make sure he did in fact drink. "Care to identify properly, program?"

Knocking the contents of the container back in one glug, the programs circuits glowed that little bit brighter, his extremities tingling with relief as he felt the energy disperse within his system. "BTE-37843, data messenger program. Designation Bote." He grimaced at the taste of neat energy in his mouth.

"Bote?" Tron tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

Bote sighed and handed the container back to him. "Yes."

Tron nodded and put the container back on its clip, taking another out for himself. He was hoping not to use these until later, but if needs must… bursts of movement like that were not advised. Downing the liquid, he looked back at the program. "A messenger program?"

"Yes."

Interesting… Tron had only been thinking about how he was going to try and contact the outside without power or, frankly, the ability without an I/O tower present.

"Are you just an internal messenger?" he said, holding a hand out for the program to take to help him to his feet, but Bote blatantly refused and got up himself. "I am more of a data pusher to be honest…"

Bote mentally kicked himself. Here he was just talking to an old security program who says he's an old Hero of the Grid, the same you initially identify as being a mass-murderer.

_How will that preserve your runtime?_

Hearing the sounds of the dead city reminding him that he was still not safe, but by standing within a few px lengths of this program made him feel far more confident that he may just see another millicycle.

Tron frowned and looked to the side in thought, eyes staring intensely. He needed to think beyond the literal and think along it.

_Outside the box, man. Thinking laterally._

Flynn's voice just blared through his system, as if his auditory sensors were actually picking up the frequency.

_Outside the box._

_To the outside._

_Push data to the outside._

Tron snapped to face Bote. "How about pushing data to the User interfaces as opposed to within the system?"

Bote froze. He hadn't ever considered it. That was beyond his purpose. "I don't- I've never thought I could."

"Well, think _now_." Tron said, pointing at him. "Can you, given the right directive path, push data to the outside?"

"I-I- I don't know." Bote said, voice high, flinching at the sounds of more glitched programs moving their way.

"Tron went over to him and pushed his chest, ramming him against the wall. "You want this system to remain this way?"

Bote stared, petrified. "No!"

"Then tell me," Tron ground out. "Can you push data if I found a path out?"

Bote looked around at the clattering noises overhead. "Yes YES PLEASE don't- Don't let them near me!"

Tron let go of the program and turned his back to him, disc wielded ready for whatever was nearby.

"Right then."

_Mother of fragmentation, the code signatures…_

7, 9… 14… 19.

There were far too many to take on with this level of power.

Tron looked back at Bote. "You fight?"

"Do I look like I do?" Bote said, voice high pitched, still holding his wrist as it healed as fast as his system would let it.

"Looks like it's your millicycle to start." Tron bit back and kicked at one of the programs that launched at him, screeching as it did so.

Bote pulled his disc from behind him and held it up, basic defensive stance instigated.

Silence fell all around as the horde slowly drew down low, coiling.

The body of the diseased program fell to the side, Tron in full on offensive mode, disc held high behind him.

A sickening cry rang across this boundary.

"MONITOR HAS THE ENERGY."

And the congregation of defiled programs swarmed.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Date: 24/8/2011_

_Boot up Complete_

_Updates Installed /view list request:_

_Request denied_

_SD card inserted_

_GRDNL658_

_File System: KFTS-GRD_

_ Total Size: 1 TB_

_ Space Free: 123 GB_

_ Action: Open /with: Explorer_

_ ERROR:/_

_Action: Open /with: Explorer_

_ ERROR:/_

* * *

The unhinged cry was the order to attack. The large group hurtled towards the two programs, most being derezzed as Tron swiped through the air.

_No cohesion within these things… like picking off automated bit programs._

Spinning in the air, Tron used the blows on the bodies of the reckless creatures as propulsion, saving energy as he punched through torsos, dislodging heads from their shoulders as they cracked and shattered.

Efficiency was key.

Bote deflected attacks as best he could, wrist still stinging as the ex-programs hit him wave after wave, concentrating so hard he barely realised how horrified he'd be at the shards of voxels that occasionally rained over him.

But the numbers were dwindling and, glancing at the dark shape nearer the gateway, he saw why.

_Flash_

Another down.

_Flash_

Another two.

Several controlled slices and movements took care of the last few, grace in every jump and twist in the air. Reminiscent of Rinzler, but far less… automated…

It was inspiring… but to a point. It still scared the pixels out of him remembering the figure back in the arenas, back in the districts, derezzing programs left right and centre.

As the last dispersed in a flurry of cubes, Bote watched as he landed, on hand to the floor for stability. As he stood up, he rolled a shoulder and replaced his disc. The helmet retracted as he beckoned Bote over to him. Bote complied and jogged after him out onto the plateau of the boundary, but almost ran into Tron's held out arm.

Tron hadn't removed his helmet and turned his head to look at Bote, who looked completely at a loss.

"Baton?"

Bote looked sheepish. "I lost my cycle baton in the delta sector of Argon…"

Tron didn't visibly show any signs of annoyance, but instead pulled out one of the spare light batons he'd collected on his travels from Tron City over the past couple of cycles. "Crash it and you don't get another one."

Bote just stared at the baton in his hands, cursing at how unprepared and pathetic he must seem in the metaphorical shadow of this high ranking security monitor. But the fact that the monitor had to carry spares in this system showed how lucky Bote had been making it this far without his code corroding too.

"Where- where are we going?"

Tron separated his light baton and let the heavy mod cycle form beneath him.

"I've got a job for you."

Bote did the same uneasily, making a small noise of irritation at the shunt the cycle gave him as it rezzed up. "Out there? There is even less out there."

Tron, turn the lights of his cycle's circuits off, leaving the lead lights on. "Stay behind me, follow my course. Do not deviate from it."

The messenger program's turquoise circuits dimmed slightly. "I haven't actually agreed to accept this… _job._"

The monitor leant back on the light cycle and Bote could tell the look that he was giving him from behind the visor was one of muted derision. He didn't have to say a word for Bote to wilt slightly and rev the circuits. "After you."

Tron rolled a shoulder and set off, heading out over the ridge and down over the mass of rocky terrain towards the one place left that may still have some answers.

_Then he could hopefully find Flynn._

* * *

_Action: Scan /with: DeteC_

_ No Threats detected_

_Action: Open /with: Sandbox ext-MIRROR_

_No detail changes will be made_

_Continue request:_

_ Granted_

_ Files found: 1_

_ Hidden files found: Cannot access_

_ Search: KF-GRD_

_ 1 result found_

_ Open /with: Sandbox ext-MIRROR_

_ ERROR:/_

_ ERROR:/_

_ ERROR:/_

_ FILE CORRUPT:/_

_ Sandbox Quarantine initiated_

* * *

Staring at the sheer faced cliff, he noted the dim glow from the aperture that had been created in the rock. Tron turned to look at his new charge and frowned slightly at the clumsy way he got off the cycle.

"Alright there?"

Bote derezzed the cycle and walked over, holding the baton out with a disgruntled look on his face. He hadn't ridden for that long in his entire run time and was, frankly, worried about the possibility of bowed legs. "Yes. And here."

Tron just looked at the baton, blinked, then back up at Bote. "What are you doing?"

"Giving it back." Bote said, returning just as blank an expression.

"Why?"

"It isn't mine."

Tron snorted what appeared to be a laugh and walked to the wall of black stone. "It is now."

Bote just watched him walk over and touch the wall, still holding out the baton. "Oh ok."

_Giving away lightcycles? _Bote rubbed his wrist and frowned.

Smoothing his hand over the granite cliff face, Tron frowned as he tried to find some entry patch or a rezzing port. But he jolted back as if burned suddenly by the rock, hissing through his teeth.

The young program jumped at the sudden loud noise within the silence of the outlands, looking over worriedly. "Are you ok?"

Images began to spark across Tron's vision, dark pictures fixing themselves together like fragmented pixels.

So bright.

He wanted to gauge his own eyes out.

_You're riding._

_Light jet._

_Landing behind the leader._

_You wait for orders._

_A mere hand signal to move._

_You walk._

_He holds out his arm._

_You all stop._

"_Here."_

_Is all he says._

Bote clipped the baton to his leg and walked over, hands clenching repeatedly in worry. "er... Tr-" He couldn't say it. "Monitor?"

But the program stopped groaning and instantly stood up straight, turning on the spot to look in the opposite direction.

"Stand over there."

Bote stopped, freezing on the spot. "What?"

"Over there." Tron brought up a hand and pointed at a place barely 100 pixels away.

Bote pulled a confused face, but complied and slowly walked to the spot and looked back. "Here."

"No. Step one pace back." Tron said, hand back on the wall as if waiting for something.

"Here?" Bote called out, hands cupping his mouth.

But before the sound hand finished echoing, the wall shunted and slid to the side and derezzed. Tron felt the pixel disintegrate beneath his gloved hand and nodded before stepping backwards into the cavity. "Yes. Come on."

Bote realised that there must be a timer on that thing and sprinted, limbs flailling. "no no no no why running..."

Sliding to a stop in the tunnel, he looked up at Tron breathing heavily but was taken aback at the sight of him with a hand on a small blue light panel, an odd look on his face.

Taking his hand off the panel, the door rematerialised and Tron began to walk down the tunnel towards another oddly familiar doorway. Bote scrambled up and jogged to walk beside him, looking at the floor.

Walking through the next door, Tron turned and stood with arms behind his back, face blank as Bote stood next to him, who almost lost his balance as the lift panel began to rise. Tron looked straight ahead and spoke quietly, barely moving his mouth. "What did you run for? I was holding the door open."

Bote was silent for a while before answering indignantly. "I thought it was on a timer..."

Standing in silence as the floor raised, it was only when the platform completely came to a standstill that Tron walked onto the dim floor and stopped, glancing over the room.

Nothing.

No one.

Bote was about to say something when he recoiled as Tron just called to the empty room. "Flynn?"

The noise echoed and died, the room returning to the state of deathly stillness.

Tron walked forward and peered around the place, a worried expression beginning to cross his features. "Flynn?"

But the far-fetched hope left him when he saw the low shadow of the city in the distance.

Flynn wouldn't be here.

Of course he wouldn't be here.

Not when he could see this.

Tron folded his arms and watched the horizon, thinking things through before he did anything else.

_That was a hopeful strategy. Stupid. Shouldn't rest on possibilities._

_What do we know?_

Bote stood silently, rubbing his forearm as he watched him. He could practically see the circuits sparking as he thought of plans and initiatives.

Looking at his feet, he sighed and thought of himself. _So insignificant..._

_Should have just let those creatures pick my pixels to shreds._

"Bote can you tell me latest communications between a Grid interface and- Bote, pay attention."

He looked up and blinked, catching sight of a disapproving look.

"Sorry."

Tron frowned and stepped towards him. "I need your full processing capacity. I don't have time for idleness." He hissed.

Bote leant back. "Yes, ok. Sorry."

"Now answer me. Can you tell me latest communications between a Grid interface and a User interface?"

Bote sighed. "I can try."

"I am not for _trying. _You _do, _understand?"

Bote nodded, pain sparking up his arm. "Yes."

Tron pointed at the interface by the aperture, face stony. "Then go."

Turning to face the window, he cursed himself.

_How could it go so wrong?_

* * *

Sam sat back and watched as the computer screen just blared the worst message he could receive.

The Grid was corrupted.

The entire system...

_How?_

It was separate. In a portable memory device.

It was inert and should be until a boot up.

His eyes fell to the pager beside him and instantly, everything pieced itself together. Eyes widening, he shot up and grabbed a battery from the television remote, hastily putting it into the pager.

The pager beeped. Again and again... incoming messages from an unknown number.

Instead of trying to read the information in the text on the small liquid crsal screen, Sam pulled up an sms network program to transfer the messages onto his screen. Typing in the number, he watched as the messages listed themselves down the screen like a cascade.

20... 35... 46...

Sam just gawked at the messages, the first few being in the form of system reports from a security bot, eyes falling on fixed words; deteriorating, failing, poor...

As the messages went on, the official language and urgency made the reports clipped and short, soundbites of how the system was still failing.

Sam scrolled to the last few and stopped, chest tightening.

_ Communication: Immediate assistance required._

_ Communication: Flynn. Immediate assistance required._

_ Communication: Flynn. System Failing._

Chair clattering to the floor, Sam bolted out through the flat, hand gripping tightly to the memory card. "QUORRA."

The pager, left on the desk, blipped again.

_Message from: JA307020 _

_ Communication: The Grid Is Dying, Flynn._

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the support, guys :)


	8. Time Immemorial

_It was low. Incredibly low. No audience, no show, just personal glory._

_What had he wanted? Attention?_

_He received it._

_1 down, chest blow, particles falls to the floor, scattering._

_Snapping underfoot._

_Spin, slicing the head. Shards all over. On you._

_Disarm, ripping through armour…_

_Too slow._

_Pay. Attention._

_Cornered. He's cornered. Too slow. You're too slow._

_Panic. Pure unadulterated panic._

_He's going to kill him._

_Time. Just a fraction of- that's all he'd need. Distraction. To make sure the User was safe._

_What distraction?_

_Just you._

_To give him time._

_You are all that's left._

_And what's left screams._


End file.
